


How Do You Take It?

by scribblemyname



Series: Liquid [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Breakup, Coffee, F/M, First Date, Legacy Virus, Romance, Two-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:00:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/scribblemyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two-Shot. Trust ain't a should. It's a choice. Rogue/Remy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Latte

She never was a coffee black kind of girl, never took her bitterness without the sweet, never drank the darkness without the light, not on her first date, not on her last.

Rogue coughs and spews when she first tastes the scalding, dark liquid Remy hands her. She wonders—not briefly—how she let him talk her into a date, any date, even 'just coffee' the way he drawled it out so innocently.

But he chuckles at her reaction, then turns red eyes on hers, intrigued. "Y' ain't ever had coffee?"

She glares in lieu of a blush. The jokes on virginity are something she can forego.

Red irises flare like flames in a dark fireplace against black darkness in his eyes. She never liked the shadows or the dark that burned, would remember liquid shadows in the eyes that drowned her. How she always gets so close to fire, always ends up burnt.

Remy moves smoothly out of his seat, goes up to the Starbucks girl behind the counter, chats her up softly so Rogue can't quite hear but for their laughter setting fire in her belly. It was an endless circle, find a guy and watch them flirt up someone else. Remy returns, slides into his seat across from her, leans forward. He still hasn't sipped his coffee.

"Y'll like dis one," he says.

She raises a brow. "An' whah should Ah trust ya?"

He tilts his head at her, furrows his own brow as if perplexed. "Trust ain't a should, chère. It's a choice."

Are they even talking about coffee?

The barista approaches with a steaming cup. The color is not so dark.

"Try it," he urges, red flaring brighter, like flames.

Rogue sips her drink. It's a latte. She's startled to find she likes it. She tells him so and is startled anew to hear the rich sound of his laugh and how real it sounds and _she wants it to_.

He still hasn't drunk from his coffee. His eyes are on her mouth.

Her first impression of coffee is that it's hot.


	2. Noir

He always was a coffee black kind of guy, straight up, without pretense, drink the bitter dregs of this world and call it good. She never thought she'd like the flavor of something so open, raw, and dark.

Mystery burned in eyes of darkness. Still a Southern belle, she takes what is offered and pours what he likes best.

How did they come to this?

This is how she takes him: black as sin, black as a thief, a liar, a wanderer in eyes and heart. She takes the way he never denies his guilts, takes that he never denies the way he wants her. They sit at the little coffee shop down the road from the mansion and drink their coffee. His is noir. She learned to pronounce the word for him.

Never tells him she likes good Southern English and front porch swings and hot and sticky Mississippi afternoons because in New York winters you gotta have something to keep you warm and if it's Cajun and spicy and _black_ —noir—you take it because it's what is offered. It keeps you warm.

But she would be the one that brought him here at the end of each test, at the beginning of each time they turned on the news.

There is no cure for what ails her.

Her last date at the same Starbucks, sipping her latte, watching him slide one finger around the edge of his coffee, black, without drinking it or looking at it. She stares at her own gloved hands.

He would be looking at her. Remy always would.

Dark eyes and dark coffee, rich and bitter, warm and real.

Her last impression of coffee is that he never drank.


End file.
